Learning to Fly
by That Buggy Girl
Summary: TFA. Swoop couldn't talk, but he sure said a lot anyway. -five small glimpses at Swoop-


**Notes:** These are old drabbles, from back in late spring of '08. They go together as one set, all focusing on Swoop's lack of speech. There is some _very_ implied slash, if you look hard enough.

-

**Words**

Swoop didn't understand the importance of words.

Grimlock tried to teach him, nudging with his metal muzzle, coaxing in his own way. "You Swoop talk." Another nudge; Grimlock only wanted what was best for his tribe. "Open mouth, words come out. Is easy."

Swoop shrugged, slender shoulders rising. He didn't understand why Grimlock was so insistent he talk. He preferred to let his body do the talking; the way he carried himself, the occasional gentle touches…They said more than mere words ever could.

Swoop didn't understand the importance of words, but he knew he could say a lot without speaking.

**Games**

It was all about subtle body movement at first; a touch of claws here, a brush of a wing there. The way he moved when he walked -- Purposeful; with clear intent, though no one would ever know exactly what the target of his actions was.

It took Grimlock a while to understand. No master of subtlety was he.

Swoop didn't mind. He enjoyed this game.

Grimlock had become quite good at reading him; he was always capable of figuring out what his flier needed. But this game was so _random. _Just when he thought he had it figured out, Swoop would change the rules. It left him confused.

Swoop grinned to himself when Grimlock cocked his head, puzzled by the claw lightly skritching against his thigh.

He really didn't care the outcome of the game; in the end, they would both win.

**The Same**

Prowl, the motorcycle robot, was not very demanding in the area of vocal communication.

Swoop liked that about him.

The cycle would visit every now and again, checking in with the Dinobots to see how they were fairing. Sometimes, he brought the big green truck; sometimes, he came alone.

The pteranodon liked his visits. He was quiet and knew how to appreciate the solitude of their island. He liked nature; the wind, the water, the green leafy things…He could have stayed and fit and belonged…Swoop wouldn't have minded.

Sometimes, he would sit and meditate in the woods, and Swoop would hover nearby, fascinated and trying to figure out what he was doing.

Prowl didn't mind. Swoop was silent, after all; he didn't ask questions, he didn't make demands…Except for sometimes, in his own quiet, unobtrusive way.

One day, Prowl invited Swoop to join him. And so they sat, side by side. Silent. Listening. The same.

Yet completely different.

**Quiet**

It always came back to the talking thing.

Usually, Grimlock brought it up at night, when the three of them would settle in to the descending darkness. Snarl always dropped into recharge quickly; Grimlock liked to wait until Swoop nodded off as well. The pteranodon knew it made him feel better to know they were safe before he himself rested.

Swoop liked this time. He liked being alone with Grimlock, to listen; to just be near him.

He didn't like when the T-Rex used this time to prompt him to speak.

Finally frustrated one evening, he placed a clawed hand over the larger mech's mouth, silently urging Grimlock to stop talking and just _listen._

Somewhere in the darkness, the crickets sang on.

They listened.

**Listening**

"You Swoop good listener." Grimlock remarked a day or two later. "Notice lots of things that way. Easier to listen when not talking, eh?"

Swoop bobbed his head a little, glancing down from his perch on the branch of a scraggly-looking tree. Grimlock was settled at the base of the tree, resting comfortably against the trunk. Both were watching as Snarl attempted to uproot a stump in a display of brute force.

Lazy days were nice. They were good for listening.

Swoop listened.

He listened to the wind and the way it rustled through the leaves; the way it whistled past his audio receptors.

He listened to the way Grimlock talked, complimenting Snarl's strength. His voice rumbled low with pride; roared with power or anger. Commanding, but gentle.

But most of all, he listened to what his spark told him. That this was home; it was safe. That Grimlock would always look after him, take care of him…But let him spread his wings at the same time. That this was _right._

He liked what he heard.


End file.
